Take Me Out to the Ballgame

Summary

A nostalgic recollection of a young boy's cherished baseball experiences with his father at Buffalo's local stadiums, highlighted by games, warm peanuts, and witnessing legendary players like Satchel Paige.

Abstract

The author reminisces about his childhood in Buffalo, NY, where his love for baseball led to memorable summer evenings at the local ballparks with his father. They would regularly attend Buffalo Bisons games, first at Offerman Stadium and later at War Memorial Stadium, affectionately known as "The Rockpile." Despite the hometown team being affiliated with the Mets, a source of friendly contention for a Yankees fan, the joy of baseball prevailed. The ritual included buying peanuts, a soda, and a game program, followed by securing their favorite spot between third base and home plate. The author fondly recalls the perfect playing conditions, the smell of fresh-cut grass, and the thrill of catching foul balls. The article emphasizes the special bond between the author and his father, forged through shared experiences at the stadium, and the awe of watching great athletes, including Negro League stars like Luke Easter and the legendary Satchel Paige, who pitched into his early fifties. These experiences are remembered as some of the best times of the author's life, for which he remains grateful to his father.

Opinions

The author expresses a strong preference for the Yankees over the Mets, considering the latter "the worst team to ever play major league baseball."
The author's father is portrayed as a knowledgeable baseball fan who knew the best spots

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

A Summer Night with My Dad — Warm Peanuts from The Mountain

As a 10-year-old boy growing up in Buffalo, NY I was a baseball fanatic. I already KNEW I wanted to play for the Yankees. Of course, as luck would have it, my local hometown team, the Buffalo Bisons, were the farm club for the NY … wait for it … METS! Arrgh! Yes, the worst team to ever play major league baseball. Ever!

But, it was baseball, and truth be told, I didn't care as long as I could go to the games. On an occasional, warm, humid summer evening in Buffalo my Dad would get home from work, tell me to grab my mitt, and then he and I would drive downtown to old Offerman Stadium, or later, to War Memorial Stadium (The Old Rockpile).

We’d get there about 6:30 or so, park in someone’s front yard close to the gates where it was cheap and safer to park, and head across the street to the stadium. Like clockwork, my Dad would buy us two bags of hot peanuts, a soda, a game program with a pencil for keeping score, and head in to buy our tickets.

Summer evenings in Buffalo I remember as being the best. It would cool down after sunset to the 60s but with the humidity, it was just perfect for baseball. It was always perfect for baseball. Always.

As we entered the stadium I could smell the fresh-cut grass. And the playing field was just perfect. I always wondered what it would be like playing on a real field, where a hit baseball wouldn’t skip across dirt and stones, with no telling where in the world the ball would go. I believed that if I could play on a real field I would’ve been a great player, no longer afraid of the ball hitting a stone and ricocheting into my face.

Once inside the stadium my Dad always took us to the same spot every time, between 3rd base and home, about 20 rows up. “This is the best place to be for foul balls my Dad would tell me.” He was right. I ended up with a few in my times there. And it was close enough to the field to yell at the umps and to get autographs.

That old stadium was known as “The Rockpile”, a big, grey concrete stadium that was cold looking even. But it was a beloved old stadium. The great Johnny Bench played there. Robert Redford filmed ‘The Natural’ there. OJ Simpson said he almost quit football the first time he arrived in Buffalo and saw where they played.

I saw some great athletes, and games, there … football and baseball. Probably the best game was in 1957-8 when my Dad got home, yelled “hurry” as he grabbed me and said “hurry, we’re going to a game”. He then proceeded to tell me I was about to witness the greatest pitcher to ever play baseball. I was skeptical. He told me “you’ll remember this forever”. He was right. Satchel Paige was the pitcher.

My Dad estimated then that he was maybe 52 years old at the time. A long time ago I looked up his history and he was indeed estimated to be in his early 50s then, but Sachel never let on his real age. That night he pitched three scoreless innings and then retired to a rocking chair he took everywhere with him by then, and sat next to the dugout and watched the game.

Back then, in the 50s, there were a number of the old Negro League stars playing in the minors like Satchel. One of them, my favorite Buffalo player, was Luke Easter. He could (and did) hit the ball a mile.

Those cool and humid summer evenings at the ballpark, eating our bag of warm peanuts, Dad telling me stories about ballplayers, were some of the best times any little kid could wish for. And I have thanked my Dad repeatedly throughout my life for those times. They were the best.